


Relinquishing control

by The_Joker_stole_my_mind



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6979609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Joker_stole_my_mind/pseuds/The_Joker_stole_my_mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young female police officer follows a hunch, what she finds is not what she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fresh air

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've ever written anything like this, let alone published it. I have no idea where it came from, or if it's any good and I haven't worked out yet if I'll do any more. I guess it depends how this one goes down. Constructive crit is always welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the beginning of this story slightly, I just felt it needed something more. I hope people like it. I'm also working on the continuation of this story, but life has been getting in the way of writing lately. As always, comments and reviews, good or bad, are very welcome.

I needed to get out of my tiny, dingy flat for a while. The flat I could barely afford on my miserly police salary. The day had been long and frustrating, and heart-breaking. I showered until the hot water ran out, but I could still feel the kid’s blood on my hands, an innocent bystander shot in a drive-by, who died before the ambulance could reach us. I had nobody to talk to, so maybe the cool night air would clear my head enough to let me sleep, so I started walking, without paying much attention to where I was going. Somehow I ended up in a part of Gotham that once must have been inhabited by the rich and famous, but was now abandoned, mansions behind high walls and tall hedges, now boarded up and falling to ruin in large grounds that had gone from beautifully manicured to weed infested wilderness.   
I was about to head home, when a dim light in one of the abandoned houses caught my eye. The large ornate metal gates that once protected the entrance were standing open, hanging half off their hinges. Against my better judgement, I decided to go in for a look. The front door of the mansion was open, and I stepped inside. I could hear faint sounds coming from the basement door, that stood ajar across the to the left of the large entrance hall. I crossed the marble floor, and slowly made my way down the stairs, knowing this was a bad idea, and doing it anyway. I didn’t even have my gun. At the bottom of the stairs was a corridor with several doors on both sides. All were dark, apart from the last door on the left. I moved silently along the hallway, finally peered around the edge of the doorframe. I gasped in surprise, and he spun to face me. There was no doubt about his identity. I was looking at one of Gotham’s most notorious criminals. I knew running would be pointless now, so I stepped through the door, convinced I was facing my death.


	2. Surprise!

We stood facing each other in the dank, dark basement workshop, the initial look of surprise on his face slowly turning to glee. On one side of the room, a workbench littered with tools and bottles of chemicals ran the length of the wall, the stark strip lights above doing little to illuminate the rest of the room. In one corner was a stainless steel surgical table on wheels, the kind used in mortuaries. On it, a litter of knives, scalpels and other cutting instruments glinted. The wall opposite the workbench was covered in shelves full of little gadgets, some of them resembling child’s toys painted in lurid colours, the uses of which were only known to their builder.  
I looked at him, and my heart beat faster, readying my body for the fight that was about to ensue. Hard muscle rippled under the white skin of his naked torso, covered in vivid black tattoos. He was wearing black sweatpants, and nothing else. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting company tonight, but then, I hadn’t expected to actually find him here. His short, bright green hair was slicked back from his forehead, his pale blue eyes in their shadowy sockets watching me, his scarlet painted lips drawn back in a lunatic grin, revealing the shining metal crowns covering his teeth. The Joker. I was so very scared of him, but then, he also stirred something else, deep inside…  
“So you think you’re ready for this?” he asked, and cackled. I didn’t answer. I had thought I was, but my resolve was beginning to waver. Too late now. “I’m gonna hurt you, really, really bad.” He said, licked his red lips, cracked his knuckles, and came at me. My body had instinctively assumed a fighter’s stance, I managed to dodge his first blow, and even land a lucky right hook to his jaw. He staggered backwards briefly, shook his head and grinned at me. “That was a good one!” He laughed again, and clunked his jaw. “Maybe this will more fun than I thought!” He attacked, I turned to dodge again, but this time he caught my wrist, and struck me back-handed across my cheek. Damn, that hurt! Dazed, I sank to my knees, trying to recover. “Oh, come on, get up! I haven’t finished playin’ with ya yet!” I gained my feet and sprang at him, but he was too quick for, somehow managed to grab me by the throat and threw me against the wall next to the surgical table. As he charged me again, I blindly grabbed one of the scalpels and slashed at him. He jumped backwards, “Fighting dirty now, are we?” He asked, and chuckled in amusement. He paced back and forth like a predator in front of his cornered prey, watching me intently, as I stood with my back against the wall, panting, the blade held out in front of me protectively. I was about done, yet he looked like he hadn’t even warmed up.  
In a last desperate attempt, I charged him with the knife, but he easily caught my outstretched arm wielding the scalpel, swept my feet from under me with his leg, putting me flat on my back on the rough concrete floor. He straddled me, pinning my left hand under him, and smashed my right wrist hard against the floor until the knife flew from my hand, then slapped me hard across the face, laughing insanely all the while. I lay still, trying to catch my breath, and looked at him sitting on my waist. My cheek stung sharply where he hit me, and I could taste blood in my mouth from a split in my lip.  
I couldn’t help but notice the bulge of his erection in his trousers. Suddenly my heart pounded harder for a whole different reason. God dammit! I was turned on somehow by his arousal, his hard, muscular frame, glistening with sweat, and the sheer joy he found in hurting me. He followed my gaze and started to laugh maniacally. “Well, look at that! Seems beating the crap outta ya got me all wound up!” He leaned forward, whispering in my ear. “Maybe I should fuck you, as well as fucking you…up?” I could feel his hot breath against my neck, and his hands crept up the sides of my upper body, to the collar of my T-shirt. In one swift movement he ripped my shirt in two, exposing my bare breasts. He sat up and clapped his hands together, still grinning his metallic grin. “Hello girls!” he exclaimed gleefully at the sight of my erect nipples, and pinched them hard.  
I flinched, but managed to supress the scream that wanted to escape my throat. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. At least, not yet.  
“You like that, don’tcha? I can tell.” He giggled.  
I was paralysed with fear and excitement when he jumped up, grabbed my hands, pulled me to my feet and forced me backwards against the wall. He pushed up close against me, his fingertips tracing across my stomach, his touch bringing gooseflesh to my skin. I could smell the sweat on his skin and feel the heat radiating from his body as he undid the fly on my trousers, one agonizing button at a time. My breath quickened as he slowly slid his hand between my legs over my pubic bone, finally pushing two fingers inside the warm wetness waiting there. I gasped as he started working his fingers in and out of me, slowly at first, then increasing the pace gradually, until I was nearly at breaking point.  
He took a step back, and slipped down his own trousers. “Get on your knees!” He demanded, the maniac grin still on his face and a lusty glint in his eyes. When I didn’t comply immediately, he slapped me hard again, grabbed the back of my head and forced me to the floor. His huge pale appendage was a sight to behold. “I think you know what to do, don’tcha?” He chuckled. I took him in my mouth, his hand grasped the hair at the back of my head painfully tightly, and he forced himself deeply down my throat, almost choking me. I did my best to take it, and let him move my head up and down his shaft, but I had to grasp his legs to steady myself. This seemed to please him, and he threw back his head and howled with pleasure.  
After a few minutes of this, he pulled me to my feet, and brought his face close to mine. “Enough of that, time for the main event!” He dragged me to the surgical table, swiped the knives off the surface with one arm, before pushing me down face first. The steel was cold against my skin, and the sharp edge dug painfully into my hips. The Joker used his free hand to pull down my trousers, before spanking me hard. He forced my feet apart with his, and slipped his hand between my legs, feeling the wetness spreading down the inside of my thighs. “Ooh, you want it bad!” he cackled. I did, I wanted him. “Well, it’s your lucky day!” he exclaimed, and slid deep inside me. I gasped as he started thrusting his hips into me hard and fast. He pulled my head up by my hair reached around with his other hand, and pinched one of my nipples again. This time I did scream, half in pain, half in pleasure. Pounding me all the while, he pulled my head back next to his, and bit me hard on my neck, his metal teeth drawing blood. I cried out again. “That’s the spirit!” he was laughing insanely, as I drew ever closer to climax.  
He must have known, because suddenly he withdrew. “You’re not getting off that easily.” He whispered into my ear, “I told you I was going to hurt you.” I felt hollow and weak, unable to resist as dragged me up onto the table I had been bent over. He left me lying there on my back, breathing hard, naked and vulnerable, and turned to study the litter of cutting implements on the floor. “Let’s see…” he muttered under his breath. “Ah yes, there it is!” he said gleefully, and bent to pick up his torture device of choice, a small, sharp looking spike attached to a dimpled metal handle. Then he crossed to the shelves lining one wall, and selected a length of rope. He returned to the gurney and gazed at me contemplatively, as if trying to decide how best to abuse me, the pointy instrument held against his pale cheek, making sure I would see it. A cheerful look on his lunatic’s face, he slowly moved to the foot end of the table, his huge hard-on bobbing merrily, his eyes never leaving mine. He momentarily placed his tools down next to me, then slowly walked his fingers from my feet, up my shins, over my knees, then up my thighs. He gently let his hands slide back towards my feet, before grabbing my ankles and yanking me roughly towards him, until my buttocks barely rested on the very edge of the table, one leg either side of him. He picked up the rope, and leaning forward, his eyes still fixed on mine, his cock resting hotly against my pubis. He tied my wrists together tightly, the cord running under the table top, so I was completely unable to move my arms. My already sprained right wrist was burning with searing pain. He slowly stood upright again, running his fingertips lightly over my breasts, across my stomach and between my legs, before, ever so slowly, entering me again with his rock hard member. “I want to feel everything I do to you.” He whispered, with a grin. I moaned gently, and he picked up the tool he had chosen to hurt me with. He brought the sharp point close to my head, and for a brief moment, I thought he would take my eyes. He saw the fear cross my face, and chuckled “Oh don’t worry, I won’t blind you,” he said, “in fact, I want you to watch!” He traced a line across my bruised cheek, ran the spike across my swollen bottom lip, then over my chin and down my neck, coming to rest at the delicate point where my collarbones met. The anticipation of the sharp pain that would follow quickened my heartbeat until I could feel it, bounding in my throat.  
Instead of stabbing me quickly, he applied even pressure to force the tip of the instrument into my flesh, a millimetre at a time. He withdrew the needle just as slowly, prolonging my suffering as much as possible. He licked the drop of my blood from the tool, and flashed me a brilliant smile. He started slowly grinding his hips against mine and replaced the sharp metal tip against my skin, this time following my sternum downwards before veering off into the crease of skin under my right breast. There, he inflicted a sharp jab, making me flinch and contract violently around him inside me. This made him chuckle again. “Relax”, he said “I’m just getting started.” He continued drawing the point across my skin with one hand, towards the sensitive place just under my armpit. His other hand had started moving across my breasts, gently at first, then harder, before finding one of my hard little nipples to pinch, pull, and roll between his fingers. The spike pierced my skin sharply again, and a gasp escaped me. His groin was moving faster against me now, and I could feel him sliding in and out of my sopping wet cunt.  
An idea seemed to cross his face, he grinned down at me, and exclaimed “Now for the grand finale!” “You can scream if you want to, I think I’d quite like that!” he added excitedly. He still held my right bud between the fingers of his left hand, when he brought the tip of the needle to rest against the base of it. My breath fast and shallow now, I screamed obligingly as he slowly forced the point of sharp steel through my flesh. The intense pain, combined with his now ever more energetic strokes, brought me to the very edge of climax. He withdrew the needle, took my bleeding nipple in his mouth, and sucked on it hard, making me groan again. We he looked up at me, I could see specks of my blood staining his metal teeth. “Almost there” he laughed, his left hand already circling my other nipple. He was starting to sound slightly out of breath now, and every deep thrust was accompanied by a shallow grunt. Knowing what level of pain to expect only heightened the agony of anticipation for what followed. As the sharp metal pierced my other nipple, my world exploded with the pain and ecstasy of an orgasm that wracked my entire body. He let go of the surgical tool stuck through my flesh, grasped my throat with his left and to keep me still, and, as I felt him convulse inside of me the slapped me hard across my cheek one last time, this final act of violence against me heightening the sensation of his own climax.  
When he was spent, he came to rest lying on top of me, panting, his glistening body hot like a furnace after the preceding exertions, the acrid smell of sweat and blood filling my nostrils, and I couldn’t help wondering what would happen next. My body felt bruised and sore, my left nipple, still impaled, burned like fire. Would he kill me now? So be it. Something had broken inside of me, and I knew I couldn’t return to my old life. The pain and pleasure I had experienced at his hands would keep me in his thrall for the rest of my life.  
As if he had read my thoughts, he lifted his head, looked at me for a moment, and then stood up, casually yanking the needle from my breast, making me cry out one last time. He stretched languidly, the sight of his naked, muscular body lighting a spark of desire within me all over again. I realised I wouldn’t be able to live without his touch. He had led me to the edge of his insanity, then shoved me right into the chasm waiting on the other side. His eyes wandered over the bloody, broken mess of my body, then looked me in the eyes, the cheerfully manic grin back on his face. “Well that was fun, wasn’t it?” he said, and bent to loosen the bonds on my wrists. “But what do I do with you now? You see, I can’t just let you leave. You found my secret lair, after all…” I said nothing, watching him pace up and down in front of me, while I was trying to slowly regain some movement in my tight muscles and stiff joints. He stopped in front of me, fixing me with an intent stare “It would be a shame to just throw away such a fun toy, even if it is a little damaged right now.” “I don’t want to die” I said quietly, now sitting up “but I don’t think I can live without you anymore.” He laughed, “I suppose I could keep you around, for a while at least, until I get bored of these games.” He took my hand, helped me to the floor and steadied me with an arm around my shoulder as he led me to the door.  
He guided me down the dark, narrow corridor, opened another door at the end, and led me inside. The room contained a cell, made from steel bars, a low cot with a moth eaten blanket on top waiting for me inside. He helped me onto the cot, then turned and left the room, not bothering to lock the door. I laid down, drew the blanket around me, and fell into a deep dreamless sleep.  
When I woke up, I found him sitting in a chair, watching me intently. On a rickety looking table in the corner was a pile of clean clothes, and a tray with a large glass of water, a sandwich and a couple of small white pills. I sat up slowly, noticing than he had dressed the wounds he had inflicted on me, and splinted my right wrist. Maybe I should have felt shame at my nakedness, but he had beaten those kinds of useless emotions out of me the night before.  
“Good morning, sleepy! How you feeling?” he asked cheerfully. My throat was dry, and my jaw ached. “Sore.” I managed. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He said, but he didn’t look sorry. He got up, picked up the pile of clothing, and brought them to me. A white t-shirt, and soft grey sweat suit, made for comfort, not style. I slipped them on, wincing at every move I had to make. When I finished dressing myself, he stood in front of me, glass of water in one hand, pills in the other. “Take these, they’ll make you feel better.” I took them without question, swallowed them and gulped down most of the glass of water. If he had wanted to kill me, he wouldn’t do it with pills. Too boring. “Thanks.” I coughed. He helped me up, led me to the table, and sat me down on the chair. He perched on the table in front of me, tore the peanut butter and jam sandwich into small pieces, and started feeding me.  
It would have been easy to mistake this tender care for kindness, but I knew better. He just wanted me fit and healthy, for next time. I would make much better sport if I was well. I didn’t care. Looking at him quickened my pulse, and I found myself looking forward it, despite the pain he would inflict on me. I felt freer than I had ever before. The pills started working, and my sore muscles and achy joints were eased, but I started to feel sleepy again, so he guided me back to the cot and helped me lay down. Gratefully I sank back into the comforting blackness. “Goodnight, my pet” he whispered, as I drifted off.


	3. Bruises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite short, it was difficult to write and I really wasn't sure about posting it. This story is turning out to be quite unpredictable, I guess it's a little like the man it's about. I would love some more comments about the story so far, good or bad.

I was sitting on the cot, reading a book, when he stormed into my cell. “GET UP!” He snarled, eyes blazing with wicked fury. In my surprise I hesitated for a moment, he grabbed me by my throat, picked me up and slammed me into the bars. I crumpled to the floor, seeing stars and gasping for breath, and tried to regain my composure. He was pacing up and down in front of me. “Oh, come on, you're gonna have to try harder! Fight me!” He growled. I launched myself at him in desperation, hoping to at least unbalance him, but he was too fast and powerful. He swatted me aside like a fly, sending me flying across the room. In one swift, graceful movement he crossed the cell and lifted me up by throat again, holding me easily against the cold iron bars with one hand, cutting of my air. I struggled, kicking at him, scratching, clawing at his arms, but he barely seemed to feel it. Just as the black veil of unconsciousness started to encroach on my vision he dropped me and kicked me in the ribs, hard enough to send me sliding across the floor. This time he was behind me, one hand twisting tightly into my hair at the back of my head, before lifting me up and slamming me face first onto the table. Blood and tears of pain were streaming down my face as his other hand ripped off my pants and he rammed himself inside me. I screamed and he bounced my head off the surface of the table again. The edge of the table top ground against my hip bones with every vicious thrust, leaving deep bruises on the delicate skin covering them. Minutes felt like hours, and still he kept on pounding into me, grunting with every stroke, until finally I felt him convulse in climax. It was over. He yanked my head up to bring my ear close to his mouth and whispered “Not good enough!” He let my head drop carelessly back to the table, withdrew and left the cell without another word, while I sank to the floor, my face bruised and swollen, my legs sticky with blood and semen. I let the blessed oblivion of unconsciousness wash over me.  
I came to, aching all over, the coppery taste of my own blood in my mouth, my insides liquid fire. He was sitting astride the chair, watching me intently. He picked up an ice pack next and tossed it at me. “For your face.” He growled. I picked it up and gently pressed it against the cheekbone that took the brunt of the impact with the table, and winced. “Your gonna need some training, otherwise I’m gonna get bored of you very quickly.” He said. “Your hand to hand combat training at the academy ain’t worth shit, it’s too…predictable. I want you to be a challenge, not a walkover. Now, let’s get you cleaned up.” He reached out his hand, and I recoiled slightly in reflex, which made him chuckle. “I ain't gonna hurt you again, today anyway. Now get up, please.”  
I took his hand, noting his only injury, the vivid red scratches my fingernails had left on his pale forearms. He saw what I was looking at and flashed me a broad chrome grin. He led me to the shower, then went to fetch me fresh clothes. I let the hot water wash over me, and cleaned up the mess I was as best I could. The steaming water stung my injured body at first, and I worked carefully to remove the dried gore from my face and body. After a while my aching muscles began to ease a little. I inspected the patchwork of purple and black bruises on my abdomen and hips, and felt glad I didn’t have any internal injuries, as far as I could tell. I couldn’t help but wonder if I was just lucky, or if, behind the mask of lunacy, there was a cold calculating part of the Joker, that knew exactly how hard you could kick someone before killing them.  
As I dressed I saw the black eye and strangulation marks on my throat in the mirror and wondered again at not being more seriously injured, and what my ‘training’ would entail. I would work hard, because despite the hurt and abuse I had suffered, I didn’t want to die just yet. Part of me felt more alive than I had in years, even if I had become nothing more than his punch bag and sex toy combined. My old life had been empty for a long time.  
I went back to my cell and there, on the table was laid out a meal and some painkillers. A small smile crept across my face. I ate slowly, chewing carefully because of my battered face and swallowed the meds. I lay on the cot, wondering briefly if I he was trying to get me addicted to those pills. I didn't even know what they were, and found I didn't really care. They worked wonderfully. I drifted off to sleep.


	4. Mark of Ownership

I spent the next few days healing. He brought me food and pills three times a day, and showed me to a bathroom with a steaming hot shower. He never locked any of the doors, he simply told me he would find me and kill me if I left. There was no need, I didn’t want to.   
Gradually, I started to exercise again, to prepare myself for the ordeals that lay ahead. One day, he came in as I was doing pull-ups on the bars of my cell. “Good, you’re feeling better.” He flashed me a big, shiny metal grin. “I think it’s time we established some rules.” He began, “You’re mine now, to do with as I wish.” I simply looked at him. “I’ll need different things from ya at different times. Sometimes I will require unquestioning obedience, sometimes I’ll want a fight.” He explained, pacing back and forth. “How will I know the difference?” I asked flatly. “Easy. I ask nicely, ya come quietly, and take whatever I do to ya. When I want a fight, ya’ll know.” His pale blue eyes fixed on mine, the madman’s smile flashed across his face. “One day, I’ll kill probably ya.” He added almost casually. “How?” I asked. He grinned at me again “With a blade. It’ll hurt, but not for long, and not as bad as some of the other stuff I’m gonna do to ya, I promise.” I nodded, and he chuckled, clearly amused by my easy acceptance of the facts about the end of my life.  
“Now, come with me, please.” He took my hand, led me through the door, down the dim hallway, and back into the middle of the room where my life had changed a few days earlier. I followed willingly. He had cleared away any sign of our fight.  
“Take of yer shirt.” He commanded. I winced as I tried to pull the shirt over my head. “Here, lemme help.” He was standing in front of me, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his naked upper body. I lifted my arms and let him pull the top over my head. As he did so, he buried his face in my neck, and inhaled deeply. The act sent a shudder down my spine, and he chuckled darkly, as he threw the garment carelessly into a corner. “You’re not afraid. Good.” Fear was just another one of those useless emotions.  
He moved to one of the shelves, picked up a pair of padded leather shackles, and turned back to face me. “Hold out yer hands.” He applied the shackles to my wrists, snuggly, but not uncomfortably so. He reached into his pocket, and brought forth something that looked a little like a garage door opener. He pressed a button, and a winch cable descended from the ceiling. The sudden noise from the motor had made me jump, and he chuckled again. When the clip was roughly level with my face he stopped the motor, lifted my hands to clip the shackles to the cable, reversed the motor and winched my arms just above my head, but not so high I was on tiptoes.  
He walked around me slowly, his eyes roaming across my body, lingering for a while on my breasts, a hungry look on his face. This should have made me feel self-conscious, but for some reason I felt at ease with his gaze. “There’s one more thing…” he murmured. He stopped directly behind me, moved closer until he was pressed up against me, his warm breath tickling my neck. He took my earlobe between his teeth and gently pulled, before letting go again. Arousal bloomed in me, and I relaxed against him. His hands slid slowly down my bare arms, underneath the soft flesh of my breasts and over my abdomen, until his fingertips found the waistband of the grey sweatpants I was wearing. He pushed them down gradually, caressing my hips, thighs and calves in the process, before lifting each of my feet in turn to remove the pants completely, slinging them into the corner with my shirt.  
He stepped back and assessed my vulnerable, naked form, his right hand on the lower half of his face, index finger laid across his cheek in a mock gesture of contemplation. “That’s better.” A bright, gleeful smile spread across his face. “I’m feelin’…artistic,” He said, “but I’m all outta canvas, so you’ll have to do!” I watched as he snapped on a pair of purple latex gloves, and picked up a tattoo gun from the work bench. He turned to face me, grinning broadly, switched on the machine, and stepped towards me. I tensed slightly at the high pitched whirring sound emitted from the device. He ran his left hand slowly over my upper body, finally selecting a spot just below my armpit where not much flesh covered my ribs and he knew the discomfort of the needles piercing my skin thousands of times a minute would be maximised. He set the device against my flesh, and began his work.   
The pain was hot and bright, but not unbearable, and after a while became almost pleasant. I breathed deeply and relaxed, giving myself over to the sensations flooding my nerves. I closed my eyes, and for a while, nothing existed apart from the searing feeling of the tattoo gun piercing my skin, the whine of the machine, the gentle tugging of the restraints om my wrists, and the Joker’s latex clad hands on my body. I lost all sense of time, and was almost disappointed when he finally stopped. I open my eyes to see him replace the tattoo gun on the workbench and pick up some tissues and a small pot of ointment. He cleaned up the excess ink and small spots of blood on my ribcage, then applied a thin coating of the soothing salve. He left the room, and returned moments later with a cracked mirror in his hands. He held the mirror up in front of me, so I could admire his masterpiece. “Whaddya think?” he asked excitedly, wearing his now familiar grin. He had covered most of the left side of my ribcage, right down to my hips, in an intricate design of tumbling playing cards, knives, and roses. The topmost card was ‘The Joker’, what else? His way of marking me as his property. He was clearly a very skilled artist, and the quality of the work was impeccable. “It’s…beautiful!” I replied, surprising myself. “Hehe, thanks, doll. Something to remember me by.” He chuckled.   
He placed the mirror on the counter, then sauntered back to me, and took up position behind me. He pressed himself against me, buried his face in my neck, and let his hands wander over my stomach, and up to my breasts. He slowly ground his hips against my buttocks, letting me feel the magnitude of his erection through his trousers. My heart started racing, the familiar warmth spreading through my insides. His hands trailed downwards, past my bellybutton, through the soft fluff covering my most intimate area, finally plunging two fingers into the sticky wetness waiting there. Working slowly in and out of me with his right hand, he used his left hand to pull down his pants, removing the last, thin fabric barrier between himself and me.   
He guided himself between my legs, then roughly plunged his entire length into me. I gasped. He placed his hands on my hips to keep me still, then began fucking me hard and fast, bruising me with every thrust. I was on the verge of climax in moments. Suddenly he withdrew, ran the tip of his tongue over my neck, following the path of my jugular vein, and whispered menacingly in my ear “You didn’t think it was gonna be this easy, did you?”   
One of his hands found his way between my legs, and he started spreading my copious vaginal juices over my anus, before inserting first one, then two fingers. I prepared myself for what was sure to follow. “Remember, this will be easier if you stay nice and relaxed.” His hot breath against my neck, I could feel his tip of his member, well lubricated from before, pressing against my back passage, before slowly forcing himself inside. A small whimper escaped me. “Easy!” he said warningly, and began moving slowly. The initial pain subsided, and as this new act of degradation became more bearable, my rapid, shallow breaths began to settle. “Good girl” He breathed on my neck, and reaching around with one hand, started massaging my clit, gently at first, then harder and faster, matching his thrusting. Soon, I felt him twitch inside me as he came, his spasms pushing me over the edge of climax as well. Panting, he laid his head on my shoulder for a moment, and chuckled darkly. “You sure know how to play the game.” He said, then carefully withdrew from me.   
He picked up the remote control for the winch, lowered the restraints, and removed the shackles from my wrist. He led me to the bathroom, turned on the shower good and hot, then stepped inside with me, soaped me up, and rinsed me off. After we were both clean he helped me dry off before applying a new layer of ointment to the fresh tattoo. The fresh pile of clothes already laid out in the bathroom made me realise just how well planned and calculated my most recent experience had been. He had simultaneously removed the last shreds of my dignity and broken down any remaining inhibitions. There was now nothing left of the old me, I was an empty shell, ready to be filled with whatever depravity he had planned for me next.  
He led me back to my cell, helped me onto the cot, and left me to sleep.


End file.
